a wish that came true twice

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

"We should move The Northaven further inland," Ronin says quietly, though he's almost immediately interrupted by the indignant cry of the infant in his arms. Huffing a laugh under his breath and resuming his gentle rocking of the baby - don't ask him if it's Carlo or Calan, because he won't be able to tell you - the Knight leans further towards the window of the Northaven and peers out at the fine wall of rain. It makes the coastline almost impossible to make out, and while being hidden from prying eyes wouldn't normally bother him during Leafchange, it also makes it difficult to see who's coming.

Scrunching his nose at everything he can't see and thus can't keep an eye on, Ronin eventually abandons his post and manoeuvres his way back to the table to sit, having to twist and dodge around bassinets and cribs and tiny piles of folded baby clothes to get there. "Maybe closer to Wildering House," he continues, for all the world a stern and protective sentinel of their little home until his gaze falls back on the child in his arms.

Immediately softening back into himself, he raises his eyebrows towards the baby. "And that way," he adds in a softer voice, "your brother and sister won't have to come hunting for us to say hello."

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

Remi stands near a small table with one of the twins cradled against his chest, bouncing the infant with the slow, practiced rhythm of someone who has learned that stopping even briefly invites immediate protest. Which child it is remains a mystery he has stopped pretending to solve for the moment; the baby in his arms is equally red-faced and indignant as his brother, and the distinction between Carlo and Calan feels more theoretical than practical right now.

One of his tentacles curls upward from behind his back, waggling its tip in what he hopes is an entertaining distraction while another gently nudges a bottle toward the baby’s mouth. The infant swats it away with surprising accuracy, tiny fists batting the rubber nipple aside with a ferocity that would be impressive if it were not so inconvenient. Remi exhales a quiet sound of exaggerated suffering through his nose. "You cannot possibly be this offended by milk," he murmurs to the baby, nudging the bottle forward again only to watch it be rejected with equal indignation. The tentacle tries again, wiggling theatrically; the baby responds by attempting to grab it with the singular determination of someone who has no concept of personal safety.

Looking up at Ronin across the crowded room, Remi nods slowly at the suggestion of moving inland, his seaglass eyes briefly drifting toward the rain-blurred window before settling again on his husband. A crooked smile pulls across his mouth, warmth threaded through the exhaustion.

"Shall we rock-paper-scissors to see who does the pulling?" The suggestion is offered with a flicker of quiet amusement through the bond, because Leafchange has a way of sharpening Ronin’s instincts into something watchful and territorial, and sending one of them out alone into the rain while the other remains behind with the twins suddenly seems like a hill Ronin might well die on, despite it having been his idea. There is also, of course, the unspoken reward attached: whoever wins gets the brief, cold freedom of the swim, and whoever loses earns the infinitely softer prize of sitting inside with two warm, squirming newborns tucked safely against their chest.

Remi shrugs one shoulder, bouncing the baby again when the protesting begins to ramp up another notch, his tentacle making a second hopeful attempt with the bottle. "Though," he adds after a moment, his smile turning lopsided, "I could always call Vai down to look after them." He glances down at the baby attempting to wrestle the bottle nipple into submission and huffs a quiet laugh. "I’m almost certain she could calm them down and tell them apart."

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

Never has Ronin bristled at the idea of Vai playing any part in their children's upbringing, but with the combination of Leafchange mania and the exhaustion of taking care of two tiny new lives, he can't help himself. His expression darkens at the very idea of someone else in the Northaven - visiting elsewhere is different, allowing him some degree of control - and he gives a decisive shake of his head. "Maybe in a few weeks," he says a little stiffly, as if in recognition of his own unreasonable behaviour, the Knight punctuating it with an apologetic smile in Remi's direction.

"I'll pull, I don't mind," he continues, and it's less to do with having a break and more to do with the knowledge that all three of them will be safe inside the Northaven while he relocates their houseboat. "Unless you really want to," he adds, though the comment is given with a begrudging wrinkle of his nose.

The baby in his arms has taken umbridge with his decision to sit by now, squalling his irritation until Ronin lets out a tired laugh and gets back to his feet, dutifully rocking him once again. "Do you want to swap for a bit?" he offers Remi with a smirk, because nothing else has worked, so who knows? "Maybe this one will be happy to sit if he's with you, and his brother will finally feel hungry with me."

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

The shadow that crosses Ronin’s face at the mention of Vai is small but unmistakable, and Remi catches it immediately, the change rippling through the Attuned bond before Ronin even shakes his head. For a moment Remi simply watches him with a knowing sort of patience, the crooked edge of a smile already beginning to pull at his mouth as the Knight stiffens through his explanation. "Oh, I’m quite sure Vai would throw you into a pit just the same way she once did to me," Remi says mildly, raising one brow. "It does not matter that there probably isn’t one large enough for the task. She would still find a way." That the witch hadn't shied away from a snarling lion was all the evidence the Bastion needed she'd take on a dragon or a leviathan as well.

The baby in his arms punctuates this thought by rejecting the bottle yet again, batting it away with such force that one of Remi’s tentacles withdraws with theatrical offense. Remi exhales another quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head when Ronin offers to pull the Northaven himself. "No, no, you can," he says easily, waving the suggestion away with a casual flick of his wrist.

When Ronin proposes the swap, however, Remi’s eyes immediately brighten with a sort of desperate enthusiasm that betrays exactly how outmatched he currently feels. "Yes, please," he says with a quick nod, shifting the baby higher on his shoulder as he approaches the table. "Honestly, I never know what it is they want. None of the others were quite like this." Aoife had been quiet, almost eerily so after Ronin's death. Mateo had been a joy, and while he hadn't been around for Flora and Enzo, at least they'd had Vai as well as Hotaru.

The infant in his arms continues to fuss with tireless determination, little fists scrabbling against Remi’s shirt while the tentacle with the bottle makes one last hopeful offering. Remi glances down at him, then toward the second twin in Ronin’s arms, his expression softening into baffled affection. "This one only settles when he’s practically squished against his brother," he adds, sounding equal parts amused and defeated as he reaches to make the exchange.

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

"I'm certain you're right," Ronin says, his smile a little sharper despite his best efforts, "but I'd really rather not test the theory just now." Better for Vai to come to Wildering House to work her magic on their children. You know, on neutral ground. Ronin might even be able to stomach collapsing back at the Northaven for a nap or two that way - or whatever else his Leafchange-addled mind thinks it might be able to accomplish with Remi during that time.

Feeling more settled now that he gets to pull The Northaven and rest easy in the knowledge that all those he cherishes are safe inside it, he grins and stands ready for the Great Twin Swap, a feat that involves more tentacles than it really ought to, though the Knight isn't complaining for once. "What's really insulting is they never even seem to want the same thing," he agrees through a quiet laugh, carefully exchanging one baby for the other, along with the bottle he'd been offended by.

"Well," he says, "if nothing else he can be squished against his brother soon enough when I go to swim us inland." Glancing to Remi as the baby he'd swapped out immediately settles in the Bastion's arms, Ronin is too relieved to even be offended, huffing out a sigh.

"And how about you?" he asks his son, making a gentle offering with the bottle. "I promise, in this household food is almost like another deity."

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

Remi lets out a low chuckle at Ronin’s response, nodding solemnly as though his husband has just delivered a piece of profound strategic wisdom rather than a simple refusal to tempt Vai’s more creative disciplinary methods while he was Leafchange-y.

He shifts closer as Ronin stands ready, the impending twin exchange already threatening to become a logistical puzzle of limbs and tentacles. One curls up to wiggle its tip in front of the baby’s face in what Remi hopes is a sufficiently fascinating display while another gently steadies the bottle that has been so vigorously rejected. The manoeuvre gives him just enough distraction to attempt the handoff, but the moment the babies change arms the one now pressed against Remi’s chest opens his mouth and releases a screech that feels almost impressively loud for such a small creature.

Remi closes his eyes briefly and tilts his head back toward the ceiling of the Northaven as though the wooden beams might contain some ancient parental wisdom he has yet to discover. "Maybe we should stick them back in dirt," he says thoughtfully after a moment before shrugging one shoulder and glancing down again at the squalling infant now clinging to his shirt with determined little fingers. "Maybe they miss it somehow."

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

Ronin can't help but to snort out a laugh at Remi's suggestion, and as the baby in his arms rejects the bottle again with a well-timed swat of a tiny hand, for a second he's just about tempted to try it. "Maybe they just hate being on the water," he seconds, though he supposes there might be a grain of potential truth in that. "Can newborns get seasick?" On a houseboat at anchor in a relatively calm sea, no less?

Both twins are squalling now though, and thinking in complete sentences is no longer a privilege the noise allows him, and so the Knight finally surrenders to the plan he'd been making. "Alright," he says, voice rising a little louder to be heard over the din, and he grins and nods towards their bed. "Go get comfy and we'll see if they settle when they're together. If you're not deafened, I'll take it as a sign for me to go and start moving us inland?"

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

Remi tilts his head to the side at Ronin’s theory, considering it with a seriousness that the situation hardly deserves before giving a small, helpless shrug. "If it gets them to eat," he says, voice threaded with tired humour, "maybe it is worth taking Flora up on her offer and staying in one of the rooms at Wildering House for a while."

Both babies are still protesting with equal enthusiasm, their cries echoing off the wooden walls of the Northaven, and Remi glances between them with the expression of a man rapidly running out of ideas. Then, with a resigned sort of determination, two of his tentacles slip carefully around the infants, drawing them closer together so that the twins are pressed side-by-side against his chest. The result looks, for a brief and alarming moment, like a parenting decision that will later require apology and explanation, but gods if it doesn't work.

The cries taper into confused little grunts almost immediately, then soften further into curious coos as the babies blink at one another with sudden, wide blue eyes, tiny faces turning so their noses nearly brush. Their fists stop flailing long enough to clutch clumsily at sleeves and blankets, attention fixed entirely on the other small creature sharing their space.

Remi freezes as though afraid even breathing too loudly might undo the miracle, his own eyes widening in stunned disbelief before lifting slowly to meet Ronin’s across the room. Without a word he begins edging toward the bed, moving with exaggerated care while the tentacles maintain their gentle hold, clearly unwilling to interrupt whatever strange twin-logic has just taken hold between them.

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

Ronin is already half moving them out of the Northaven and into Wildering House in his mind as Remi reaches for the baby in his arms, the Knight surrendering his son willingly if only to properly love and admire him from a safer decibel range. He's just straightened up and gotten back to his feet as the twins are nestled close together against Remi's chest, and as the noise almost instantly begins to subside, Ronin's laugh is almost quietly hysterical. "Not seasick then," he confirms, leaning for a moment against the back of the chair.

His ears are still ringing and the tension in his shoulders and back and jaw are still plain (a combination of Leafchange and the prolonged sound of newborn distress), but there's genuine delight in his smile all the same. "Well," he almost whispers as Remi creeps towards the bed, "looks like we know how to calm them down now."

Waiting until the other man is settled, Ronin brings the bottle to set down on the bedside table, sinking down on the edge of the bed and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Gods, I know I said I'd go but suddenly I'm exhausted," he admits.

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

Remi doesn’t dare answer right away, not with the fragile quiet settling over the room like something that might shatter if handled too roughly. Instead, he casts Ronin a glance from beneath his lashes, seaglass bright and quietly amused, his lips curving into a boyish smirk that deepens a single dimple along his cheek. "Mm," he murmurs at last, barely louder than the softened cooing between the twins, "twin sandwich seems to do the trick."

He eases himself down onto the bed with exaggerated care, every movement deliberate so as not to jostle the small, newly-formed peace in his arms. The twins remain pressed together, their earlier outrage replaced by a kind of absorbed fascination with one another, tiny sounds passing between them as though they’ve remembered something only they understand. Remi adjusts them just enough to keep them comfortably nestled.

A tentacle reaches blindly for the bottle and draws it closer, though he doesn’t immediately offer it, unwilling to disrupt whatever fragile magic has taken hold. Only once he’s settled does his attention return fully to Ronin, and the expression that softens across his face is warm and unguarded in a way the rest of the world rarely gets to see. "I bet we can get them down for a nap between us," he says, the hint of a smile lingering at the edges of his words. "If we’re clever about it."

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

"We can sew them one giant onesie as long as it keeps them happy," Ronin decides, scoffing a tired laugh out under his breath and letting his hand drop from his face so he can lean back on them, fully admiring how Remi settles on the bed with the twins. Not just how easy he makes it seem, but how good he looks with their children, how right it all feels (but then again, maybe it's just the sudden and tentative peace that has the rush of dopamine flooding his system).

The suggestion of a nap is like black magic - dangerous and ever so tempting all at the same time. Ronin doesn't try to hide the way his shoulders sag at the thought of it, and while he's still telling himself he ought to get up and go out to finish the chore he'd been the one to suggest, already he's kicking off his shoes and shifting to slouch beside Remi on the bed.

"I can be quite clever when I want to be," he boasts, grinning and patting the space between them. "If this doesn't work and they start to scream again, you can hold them and I'll hold you. How about that?"

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

There’s something openly adoring in the way Remi watches him, something soft and almost boyish that lingers in his gaze as Ronin—the White Knight, Caido's relentless, unyielding protector—chooses, just this once, to surrender to the quiet pull of rest instead of duty. It isn’t a grand thing, not in the way battles or sacrifices are, but it feels no less significant for it, and Remi lets the moment settle warmly in his chest. "Indeed you can," he murmurs, the words threaded with quiet affection as he shifts slightly on the bed.

With careful precision he begins to move, half rolling and half lifting the twins from his chest to the mattress between them, his hands and tentacles working in tandem to keep the transition as seamless as possible. The moment they’re down, he nudges them gently together again, ensuring they remain pressed close, small bodies aligned so that whatever strange comfort they find in one another isn’t lost. He stills almost immediately after, one brow lifting in anticipation of the inevitable protest, his head tilting just slightly as though bracing for impact, but the screaming doesn’t come.

Instead, the twins remain settled, their earlier fussing reduced to soft, intermittent sounds as they shift minutely against each other, content in a way that feels almost miraculous given the chaos of moments before.

Remi’s expression shifts slowly from wary expectation to cautious, almost disbelieving success, and he flicks his gaze sideways toward Ronin over the small, bundled forms between them, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth as though he scarcely trusts what they’ve managed. He doesn’t speak, not yet, as if saying anything might undo it, but the look alone carries the quiet, incredulous triumph of it: can you believe this is working?

RONIN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

"Mm, you must be tired if you're agreeing with me about my intelligence," Ronin says with a sleepy grin, shifting onto one elbow to watch as Remi carefully - ever so carefully - manoevres their twins between them on the bed, the two warm and tiny bodies still cooing curiously at one another. And when the Bastion nudges them together and waits, both demigods are reduced to holding their breath and silently praying as they watch to see if it's all about to go to hell in a handbasket.

And when it doesn't, Ronin finds it's even more difficult to keep composure; he releases his held breath in a shaky sigh that might have been a laugh if he'd dared to let it become one, blue eyes flicking from Carlo and Calan to Remi again as if waiting to wake up from what's clearly a dream. I think it's working. He replies to his husband's unspoken question through the Attuned bond, his words accompanied by a pulse of love and relief in one.

Slowly, carefully, Ronin eases himself down onto the bed properly again, head nuzzling into a pillow and one of his hands carefully stroking across one of the twins' cheeks. Whichever one it is hardly notices, too consumed by his living reflection.

now don’t you lose hope

I swear I never dream that we’re alone

I swear I still believe but I don’t know

i'm not the man they think i am at home

Remi answers Ronin’s sleepy remark with a sidelong glance that is all mischief and barely-contained laughter, his teeth catching briefly at his lower lip as though physically holding the sound back so it doesn’t spill into the fragile quiet they’ve managed to build. The urge to laugh is sharp and bright in his chest, but he reins it in, shoulders rising and falling with a careful, silent breath instead.

When Ronin exhales, Remi mirrors it without thinking, the tension easing from him in a slow, almost disbelieving release. Gods, he sends through the Attuned bond, the thought threaded with a breathless sort of wonder, I am not sure I have ever been so afraid of something in my life. The admission carries a quiet laugh beneath it, because it feels absurd even as it feels entirely true; they have faced monsters, war, loss, things that should have carved fear into them far more deeply than this, and yet it is the idea of waking these two small, squished-together boys that has his heart racing like prey.

His gaze softens as it drifts back to Ronin, seaglass meeting ocean, and the smile that forms is unguarded and boyish, a dimple pressing into his cheek as though the years between then and now have briefly fallen away. He doesn’t speak aloud, not when the silence feels so carefully won, but his thoughts move gently across the bond, quieter even than a whisper.

Do you think they’re Accepted, like Flora and Mateo? He pauses, eyes flicking down to the twins and then back again, something thoughtful threading through the warmth. Enzo was Abandoned..but I feel like if they had magic we’d have felt it by now.